


Most of us are bitter over someone

by Elisexyz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Injury, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “I’m fine. Ward has been shot,” Skye explains, keeping her tone flat. To be honest, Grant is half expecting someone to yell ‘Good for us!’ and suggest that they just leave him there to die once and for all.





	Most of us are bitter over someone

**Author's Note:**

> This was a response to the prompt [15: “Don’t die on me– Please.” + Skyeward](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/170880753584/can-you-do-the-dont-die-on-me-please-for) on Tumblr. But it got out of hand, obviously, because I live for the ~ _drrrrama_. ~~Poor Ward, I keep injurying him. Sorry, honey, love ya~~.

Alright, in retrospect he _probably_ should have taken into consideration Skye’s new powers and how they would affect the environment around him. In his defence, he has known about them for like ten minutes and he is not really sure about what it is that she can do, besides throwing grown men to the other side of the room with the imposition of a finger.

Still, the fact is that he’s deeply regretting heroically jumping in front of the bullet instead of going for an headshot on the shooter. He didn’t have much time to think it through, but the general idea was getting shot in some non-vital place – hopefully he’d end up with a flesh wound – to show that he’s worth trusting, considering that his former team seems hellbent on not giving him half a chance even though they are forced to work together.

Grant guessed that putting himself at risk to save Coulson’s favourite member of the team would at least gain him a couple of points.

But no, of course his plans _never_ work, because Skye was creating _earthquakes_ – or whatever it is that she does – all around him, and he’s not even sure if she accidentally moved the bullet mid-air or if she made him lose his footing.

The result is that he got what’s definitely _not_ a flesh wound, and he’s getting sick of almost dying every other week.

“Well, _that_ was stupid,” Skye mumbles, the area around them already cleared when she kneels beside him. “You okay?”

She’s putting up a cold front, like she’s been doing since when May started training her. If you ask Grant, the _Cavalry_ has been ruining her. Skye is not built for being an emotionless robot, she’s supposed to be all about caring and faith in humanity mixed with inappropriate enthusiasm in front of alien crap.

She’s gotten good at playing robot though. Grant can see the leaks, but there aren’t many.

“Not really,” he grunts, pressing his hand against his side – thankfully it’s not the same that Skye so kindly filled with bullets not so long ago.

“Let me see,” she orders. She moves with enough confidence to let him know that she’s been doing her homework, at least as far as first-aid is concerned, but he still hesitates before removing his hand.

Her cold mask falls for a second, probably because of the insane amount of blood.

“That bad, uh?” he scoffs. She glances at him, then she tries to wipe every trace of emotion from her face – she doesn’t quite succeed, but he’ll appreciate the effort –, and quickly puts pressure on the wound.

“We both know you are too lucky a bastard for me to get rid of you this easily,” she comments, before activating her comm. “I need some medical help here,” she says.

“ _What happened? Are you hurt?”_ Coulson immediately asks.

“I’m fine. Ward has been shot,” Skye explains, keeping her tone flat. To be honest, Grant is half expecting someone to yell ‘Good for us!’ and suggest that they just leave him there to die once and for all.

“ _Alright, got it_ ,” Coulson says instead, which is more merciful than Grant had expected considering that he doesn’t even know the _circumstances_ of his injury.

“The irony of this isn’t lost on me,” Grant scoffs, trying to distract himself from the pain that Skye is putting him through with all that pressing and keeping himself awake at the same time.

She immediately gets that he’s referring to her barely failed attempt at killing him. “Fortunately for you, today we are on the same side.”

“Fortunately for _you_ ,” he corrects, distractedly wondering how long he can go without oxygen, because it really fucking hurts to breathe. “I just saved you. You’re welcome.”

“I could have taken care of it,” Skye protests.

“If you’d noticed,” he mumbles. He starts closing his eyes without meaning to, before a new wave of sharp pain takes his breath away and brings him back to reality.

“Come on, don’t die on me,” Skye is saying, and if he ignores the conflicting emotions on her face he can almost pretend that they are back to simpler times, when she would probably be _begging_ him to stay. “Talk to me, stay awake,” she insists.

“Hurts to talk,” he lets out, regretting _again_ his stupid idea. If he survives this, they’d better not throw him into that damn cell again, he deserves a goddamn _award_ —

“Ward,” she calls. “Grant!”

Oh, right, he closed his eyes. He’s not supposed to do that.

It’s been a while since when she’s called him by his first name. That’s nice.

“Here, I’m awake,” he assures. He gives in to the instinct of taking a deep breath, which he comes to regret about two seconds later.

Coulson appears beside Skye not much later, with a stretcher. Grant doesn’t miss that there’s no sign of Simmons around, but that’s hardly surprising: he’s sure she isn’t eager to save his life or be around him in general.

“I didn’t take you for the sloppy type,” Coulson comments, as they get prepared easy him on the stretcher. “Out of practice?”

“It was to save me,” Skye corrects, before Grant can. She doesn’t sound pleased, at _all_ , but he’ll take the fact that she immediately defended his honour as a win.

“You’re welcome,” Grant adds, grinning slightly as he tries to distract himself from the awful amount of pain he’s in as they slide him on the stretcher.

“Let’s save the gratefulness for later,” Skye replies. Her hand is still firmly pressing on his side.

“Might not be around for that,” he retorts. He’s keeping his eyes half-closed, but he still catches Skye’s glance. It’s _worry_ , he’s pretty sure. He barely resists the urge to smile.

“Oh, don’t get all dramatic on me now,” she snorts, a few seconds later. Either Grant is delirious, or it sounds almost _affectionate_. Probably a bit of both. “It’s just one little bullet, you’ll be fine. What kind of super-spy are you?”

The soon-to-be-dead kind, probably.

The only thing that keeps him awake – barely – and sort of alert until they get back to the ship is plain stubbornness – Skye keeps talking to him; he doesn’t actually catch half of it and at some point her voice becomes more of a lullaby than anything else, but it’s something to hold onto and it allows him to pretend that maybe not all is lost with her; she mentions Kara, a couple of times: it reminds him that someone _is_ going to miss him, and it’s probably the most than someone who’s lived his kind of life could hope for; he hopes that Coulson will give Kara one of his proverbial second chances, he doesn’t like the idea of her alone.

He keeps holding on long enough for Simmons’ face to come into his – limited and annoyingly blurry – field of vision, and he grins half-heartedly, thinking that _hey_ , she might think she hates him, but she keeps patching him up when he’s about to die. Maybe there’s some hope with her too.

 

When he comes to, the first thing that he feels is an overwhelming wave of nausea. He closes his eyes again, leaning back further into his pillow with a low groan.

A few seconds pass before he remembers that he didn’t exactly pass out in a _safe_ situation, that he’s not among friends – temporary allies, at _best_ – and that it would have been much better for him if he had managed to stay awake and alert the whole time instead of leaving his unconscious body into SHIELD’s hands.

His eyes snap open, which he regrets when the _white_ around him burns into his skull. Well, this means that he’s not in Vault D. That would be more gloomy and grey, certainly not this bright.

He carefully reopens his eyes, moving his head to check his wrists: handcuffs. And he’s strapped to the bed. Flattering, they think he could escape even half-dead.

“If you are thinking about running, I’d advise against it,” Skye warns.

Grant bites back a noise of surprise just in time, cursing himself internally for not noticing that he wasn’t alone. Admittedly, everything is a bit fuzzy, he guesses he’s on drugs, as supported by the insane amount of nausea he’s trying not to think about, but he still should have noticed.

“Watching over me?” he jokes. It comes out tired and a bit slurred, but all things considered he’s pretty proud of himself.

“We elected that I was the one who’d have to put the least effort into preventing you from leaving, if you were stupid enough to try it,” she replies, her tone neutral with an edge of sharpness that’s been directed at him a lot lately. Grant remembers, as much as not clearly, that she was showing signs of worry for his fate when he was still conscious – ironic, coming from the woman who shot him, but still.

Now it all seems gone, and he once again curses himself for not staying awake. He could have _done_ something— thrown in an apology, a very dramatic last attempt to get some forgiveness for his deeds, if he had played it right that occasion could have played a significant role into getting him back in the good graces of his team.

Or, at least, it could have helped them tolerate him. It definitely would have helped with people that haven’t dealt with him first-hand in the past, such as Morse, who is exactly the person he and Kara need to get to.

When his eyes manage to focus on Skye, he notices that she has a swollen lip, complete with drained blood.

“Ran into a wall?” he asks, lightly.

Skye shoots him an annoyed glance. She’s sitting on a chair as far away from his bed as she can manage, arms crossed and feet pointed away from him. “Kara wasn’t very happy when she saw you half-dead on a stretcher,” she explains.

Grant’s first reaction is a hint of satisfaction and a rush of pride, because Kara _punching_ people and doing something of her own volition, even better if it’s to express anger or another negative emotion against somebody else’s actions, is always _something_.

Then he remembers where they are, and the smug grin on his face turns into a frown. “Did Coulson have her executed for that?” he asks, trying to make his expression more neutral and to keep his tone even. A clean headshot isn’t really SHIELD’s style – not at the light of day, at least –, but Kara is an enemy and she deliberately attacked one of their agents, they probably locked her away in Grant’s old cell. Which also explains why she isn’t around, actually.

“They sedated her, she’s on lockdown,” Skye replies.

Grant sets his jaw. He can just hope that they won’t make her rot there until he manages to burst her out.

Skye seems to guess his line of thoughts. “I’m sure it’ll be safe to let her out now that we can tell her that you are still up and running,” she adds.

Well, that’s not _exactly_ true, but he isn’t dead at least. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Three days, give or take,” Skye replies. He wonders if they calculated when he was supposed to wake up and Skye made sure to be there or if she just spent most of the time sitting on that chair. “Are you feeling okay?” she adds, and it’s annoyingly flat, but better than nothing.

“Like I’m about to throw up everything I’ve ever eaten,” he answers, truthfully.

“Yeah,” Skye says, slowly. “Jemma may have exaggerated a bit with the drugs. We didn’t want you to pester us with your presence before the higher-ups had decided what to do with you.”

“I’m guessing you voted for throwing me back into a cell,” he provokes. It gets him a quite impressive glare.

“ _I_ voted for putting you here because _I_ have a conscience and I know that you saved me,” she replies. He’s glad to see her angry, he prefers it to the May-like coldness she had been giving him back in Vault D. It’s more like Skye.

He remembers that she said she’d save the gratefulness for later, but he guesses that prompting her wouldn’t really work in his favour. So he just stays silent a couple of seconds too long.

“Thanks for that, I guess,” she finally adds. “I am sure you have some ulterior motive—”

“Yes, _dying_ is totally the first step to my evil masterplan, you got me,” he scoffs, raising his eyebrows and shooting her a pointed look. “Being _here_ wasn’t even my idea, Coulson kindly picked me and Kara up.”

Skye doesn’t answer, her expression now neutral. She keeps staring in silence for what seem like ages, especially considering that not having a conversation to follow makes it harder not to concentrate on how _bad_ his nausea is, then she lets the mask drop for a second and she lets out a quiet sight.

“It doesn’t change anything at all,” she states. She’s looking at him with what looks more like regret than hatred. “I’m not forgiving you, I never will. But thank you anyway for this. I’m glad you are okay.”

His lips twist into a slight smile. “Not sure about that,” he comments, without much thinking. “But you’re welcome.”

She averts her gaze, and for a second she looks genuinely sad. Then the moment is gone and she’s standing up, pulling off her still a bit lacking May-impression. “I’ll go get someone to take a look at you,” she announces.

He nods, watching her signal to some agent passing by so that he can get in and take over baby-sitter duty. She doesn’t look back once.


End file.
